Sometimes It's All You Have
by Usher
Summary: A successful mission depends on your point of view. For Alan, the last one was nothing near successful.


It was possibly the worst moment of Alan's life.

Closing his eyes, he rested his head against his knees, feeling the steady thrum of Thunderbird 2's engine's against his back from the wall of the small passageway that led from the pod back to the cockpit. He could still feel the mans hand in his, slipping away. He could still see the look of horror in his eyes as their fingers finally parted company and he realised there was nothing holding him any more. And then he was gone. The raging torrent of water swept him away.

The ice-cold water sapped his strength, but he'd had to carry on with the precious cargo strapped to his chest, the three-year-old girl who'd buried her head against his chest when her mother had handed her over.

Twelve more trips back and forth until all the passengers of the cable car were rescued…all but one.

He'd told them. He'd told them all that they'd get them out, but it was women and children first. He'd seen the panic in the man's eyes and told him that they'd get him out. He just needed to be patient. His time would come.

Everything had been fine with the first two trips. Two babies, one toddler. They'd all screamed their heads off as their parents handed them over. And then the little girl had been strapped to her chest, and he'd grinned at her reassuringly, giving her a little squeeze as he explained how nothing could happen to her now that she was in his arms. She'd stayed silent, and he'd carefully made his way over the tortured metal to the door and stepped out onto the slick rock. Just before he called for Virgil to take the slack the nervous man had launched himself at them, dragging them all into the water as Virgil hadn't heard the order to raise the cable. It was all over in an instant that felt like an eternity. He had managed to grab the man's hand and wrap his legs around his torso, but the raging torrent had forced them apart, until their fingertips were the only things keeping them together.

And then he was gone.

He didn't even know his name.

"Al?" Gordon's touch on his shoulder brought him back to earth with a jolt, and he stood up stiffly, following his older brother back to the cockpit to strap himself in for landing. Gordon and Virgil shared a worried look when Alan didn't say a word, even when they changed back into civilian clothing back at the island, and they trailed behind him as they made their way up to the Command Centre where Scott and their father were waiting.

Jeff's face fell when he saw Alan. He'd been on the far side of the gorge, manning mobile control when the accident had happened, but there had been nothing any of them could have done to either prevent the accident or save the man.

"We'll keep this brief, boys, I know you are all tired."

Alan nodded numbly, speaking when asked, giving a clinical account of his part in the rescue. Scott remained standing, arms crossed protectively across his chest as his brothers spoke in turn, and finally gave his small rendition of the rescue.

"Ok, I think that's it." Jeff stood as the others filed out, and quietly spoke Alan's name, asking him to stay behind.

In the deathly silence that followed the others departure, Jeff quietly put his arms around him and held him tight.

"I couldn't hold him, dad." Alan mumbled into his father's shirt, feeling like he was 8 and not 18. "I told him to stay where he was. That I'd be back for all of them… I couldn't…"

"I know, son. I know."

Alan's arms rose to clutch at his father's back, and he felt the hot sting of tears prick at his eyes. "I'm sorry…"

Jeff bit at his lip in frustration. "Alan, you have nothing to be sorry for. Do you hear me?"

"I…I should have held on tighter."

"You couldn't hold on any tighter than you did, Alan. Sometimes…sometimes you just can't save them all."

Alan closed his eyes, remembering the first time his father spoke those words to him, and he suddenly realised the pain his father must have felt when he realised that the man he had left behind in the mine was now targeting his family. "I don't even know his name."

Jeff hesitated for a moment before answering. "His name was Robert Socha. He was forty two years old, from Connecticut ."

Alan pulled back slowly and nodded, wiping at his eyes self-consciously. "Thanks, dad. I'm just gonna go…gonna go take a shower. Warm up a bit."

Jeff watched Alan trudge dejectedly out the door and sat down in the chair behind the desk, his eyes distant as he remembered the first time he'd realised that you couldn't save everyone. And deep in his heart, he hoped his youngest could deal with it as he had.

XXXxxxXXX

"Where's Alan?" Scott asked that night at dinner. Gordon shrugged, looking around the table at the others, who in turn shrugged or shook their heads.

"He's not coming for dinner. Kyrano will keep something for him in case he gets hungry later." Jeff murmured, taking his own place in front of the heavily laden plates.

"Is he ok dad?" Virgil asked quietly as he unfolded his napkin, voicing the question that was on everyone's lips.

"I don't know."

High on the rocky outcrop above where his family were eating, Alan put down his backpack and opened it, removing a small candle. From here, you could see nothing but ocean, even though it was the highest point on the island. It made you feel like you were the only person in the world, and removing a lighter, he quickly lit the candle and sat back, settling it in a crack in the rocks where the wind wouldn't put it out.

"Robert…if you can hear me…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't hold on any tighter. I'm sorry that you didn't believe me when I said I would be back."

Bowing his head, he fell silent, praying quietly for the mans soul as the tears poured down his cheeks.

Hours later, as he made his way back down the mountainside in the darkness, he stumbled over something he had never seen before. In a small depression in the rocks, he found eight candles, all burned down to the wick, and he realised he wasn't the first to make the trek up the rocks to put a 'failed mission' to rest. Looking around, he narrowed his eyes to see better in the light of the moon.

Walking slowly around the narrow plateau that was really the only flat place on this side of the Island, he found three others, each with varying amounts of candles in them. Picking up one, he realised there were words scribed into the bottom of one, and he read it out loud, picking up a second.

"Richard May. Iowa. Fire."

"Peter Habashi, Ferry, English Channel."

Seeing the names didn't make him feel any better, but the realisation that he wasn't the only one to feel that he had to make peace with the spirits of those they had been unable to help, helped. With a slightly lighter heart he continued his journey back to the villa, and found that the house was deserted. Checking the clock, he was shocked to see how late it was, and found his dinner wrapped up carefully in the fridge.

He was halfway through when Scott entered the kitchen in a bathrobe, yawning and scratching at his head. "Need milk." He yawned again, pouring himself a glass and grabbing some cookies before sitting across from Alan.

"Didn't realise it was so late." Alan murmured between bites and Scott nodded.

"Time can fly when you are up there." He agreed quietly. Nothing more needed to be said, and after Alan had finished cleaning up, Scott slung his arm around his brother's neck, guiding him towards their rooms. When they got as far as Alan's door, he stopped and squeezed a little tighter.

"It doesn't get any easier, Sprout. But remember, you saved fifteen peoples lives today. And countless more since you started training. It's not much comfort, but…" he shrugged tiredly and gave Alan another squeeze. "Sometimes it's all we have."


End file.
